“I have it!” he exclaimed, pulling out a shining metal tube.
“No—no,” said the invalid faintly, opening his eyes and looking at what Fenn held up. “That’s my asthma cure. Try the next pocket, please.”
“Say, he’ll kick the bucket if Fenn doesn’t find that medicine pretty soon,” whispered Frank. “Guess I’ll help him.”
Fenn began a search of the lower left-hand vest pocket. He brought up a bottle, containing a dark liquid. Wishing to make sure he had the right stuff, he smelled of it, before asking Mr. Ackerman to open his eyes and look at it.
“Is that it?” whispered Ned.
“Smells bad enough to be it,” was Fenn’s answer.
“No, no. You haven’t got it yet,” spoke the invalid, in peevish tones. “That is my heart remedy. I must kindly ask you to try again. I remember now, it’s in my right-hand coat pocket.”
Fenn replaced the heart cure and made one more attempt. This time he brought up a short, squatty, round bottle.
“That’s it!” exclaimed the invalid joyfully, “Now, please hold it to my nose. Not too close.”
However, he spoke too late, for Fenn had placed the open phial right under Mr. Ackerman’s nose. The invalid gave one sniff, and then jumped from the chair as if he was shot.